The Archer
by phoenixfire53
Summary: Jenn Abrams is the daughter of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, and a lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force - a demigoddess. When she meets one Percy Jackson, her life takes a BIG turn. Percy/OC
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **SHA-WING! FIRST PERCY JACKSON FANFIC! This is gonna be FUN! :D

**Title: **The Archer. Yeah, I know it kinda' sucks, but it was the only thing that I could think of.

**Summary: **Jenn Abrams is the 16 year old daughter of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, and a lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force – a demigoddess. When she meets one Percy Jackson, her life takes a BIG turn.

**Pairing: **Percy/OC. I wasn't a huge fan of the Percy/Annabeth pairing in the movie. It was too weak, in my opinion. Thus, I'm shoving Annabeth to the side and giving Percy a chick with one hell of an attitude. :)

**Rating: **T. I can't do smutty, fluffy M-rated 'fics that well. Sorry if you readers were expecting an M rating outta me.

**Perspective: **It's gonna jump between first and third person a lot. Jenn's parts are obviously gonna be told from a first-person P.O.V. You guys get the basic gist of this.

**Yay! Drabbling's all done! NOW WE CAN THIS SHINDIG ON! ENJOY IT, GUYS! **

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Prologue_

Artemis had never been able to deal with strong emotions well. Anger was too complex and complicated, almost to the point where she'd shut out everything and shut down. Love was very awkward on most occasions; Artemis never knew what to say or do, nor did she really want to know. Fear was seen as a sign of weakness to Artemis, so she just brushed that feeling off to the side.

Then, there was sadness, the one emotion that Artemis had never really experienced before. She'd always told herself that when - correction, _if_ - she experienced sadness, then it would be treated like fear: brushed to the side without an inkling of regret.

Tonight was different, though; Artemis suddenly found herself unsure of how to deal with the sadness that was washing over her. Her fiercely independent soul was aching intensely as she fluidly walked down a rain-soaked sidewalk with a small, gray bundle cradled in her arms. It seemed, to Artemis, that the aching was an attempt to stop her from doing what Zeus had ordered her to do.

A bolt of lightning shot through the inky-black night sky, causing the hunting goddess to duck beneath a hulking tree rising from the thick Brooklyn concrete. She held the bundle to her chest as thunder rumbled menacingly, slowly rubbing her right palm on it in circular motions.

All of a sudden, the bundle began to whimper and squirm underneath Artemis' protective arms. Instinct kicked in, and Artemis began to rock the bundle gently, all the while cooing, "There, there, little one. It's all right, mama's here. It's all right, little one. Don't cry."

Once the whimpering had subsided, Artemis slowly pulled the bundle away and pulled a small flap to the side. There, the small, serene, sleeping face of a newborn baby girl was revealed; the sight of her made Artemis' heart swell with pride. The little girl's cream-colored face was tinted with rose in her cheeks, her small lips formed a perfect little apple, and Artemis knew that when this little girl opened her eyes, they would be grayish-blue - the color of moonstones. She smiled to herself; _my daughter's beauty rivals that of Aphrodite's._

Artemis forced herself to look away from her daughter so she could figure out where she was. With a bittersweet twinge, Artemis realized she was across from where she needed to be...and what she had to do. She quickly made her way over to the ivy-green rowhouse, making sure nobody could see or hear her.

She stood under the awning, and took a sad, long look at her child. "My darling," she whispered softly, "your mother loves you with all her heart. She always has." Tears began to build in Artemis' eyes. "But...she has to say good-bye. She would give anything not to."

Artemis set the baby down under the awning, away from the rain, then took out something from her jeans pocket - a necklace with a small pendant hanging from it. The pendant had been shaped like two overlapping waxing and waning moons, with the moons being made of milky-blue moonstones, and the small teardrop crystals hanging from it made of sapphires. It had been a parting gift from Zeus himself. "Your independence is what makes you beautiful," she'd remembered him saying as he presented the necklace to her. "This can add to it."

Artemis nestled the necklace within the folds of the baby blanket, silvery-looking tears rolling down her pale face as she did so. She hated what she was doing; no mother should've ever been forced to do this, and yet here she was, committing the deed. It made Artemis feel slightly sick to her stomach.

"My daughter, I love you so much. I wish I didn't have to do this," she murmered in a voice that was filled to the brim with pain.

Like a broken woman, Artemis banged her fist on the heavy oak door before her twice, then stepped back. When she heard footsteps come towards the door, she dashed away, and back towards the tree across from the rowhouse. Then, she watched as a man with short, dark brown hair, clear green eyes, and a pierced right ear picked up the baby, and held it to his chest.

"I've waited a while for you to bring her," the man said to Artemis without looking in her direction.

Artemis blinked back another wave of tears. "You do not know how much this pains me, Kyle. It's killing me to leave my daughter."

"I know." Kyle finally turned to look at Artemis. "It's killing me, too." His eyes swam with sadness when he said this.

Artemis shook her head, then looked up at the sky through the tree's branches and leaves. Another bolt of lightning shot through the sky, but there was no thunder following behind it - Zeus' way of telling Artemis that she had to leave. With a muffled sob, Artemis whispered, "Take care of her, Kyle," then ran off into the night as fast as she could.

_I'll never forgive you for what I've done, Zeus. I'll never forgive you for this. _

Then, without another thought or word, Artemis disappeared from the earth, and returned to Olympus.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Man, that was depressing. But now...WE HAVE OUR MAIN CHARACTER! Keep your eyes peeled for the first official chappie, because you guys are soon gonna meet our girl, Jenn Abrams. ENJOY! OH, AND DON'T FORGET - REVIEWS ARE POWER! :D**


	2. I'm Attacked By A Sadistic Greek Fury

**Author's Note: **YAY! OFFICIAL CHAPTER ONE! ENJOY! :D

**Disclaimer: **I own…the right to fangirl over Logan Lerman and his hotness. LOVE HIM! XD

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_16 years later_

I'd been staring out the same car window for the past half hour now, watching rain fall down and splash on the windshields of passing cars, which had yet to move in the eight o' clock rush hour traffic.

"This sucks!" I groaned in frustration. "I hate New York traffic!"

My dad made a humming noise and shrugged indifferently. "It'll be over soon, Jenn. Just relax and listen to the radio or your iPod."

I rolled my eyes. "Says the Air Force lieutenant who's too patient for his own good." I rested my feet on the dashboard of my dad's old-school Chevy Stingray, and sullenly crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Of all the weekdays, you _had _to let me play hooky on a frickin' monday? We both know monday morning rush hour's a bitch to sit through."

"Watch your language, Jenn. I only pulled you out of school today because this just happened to be the one day my commanding officer would let me off the hook for a bit."

"Your commanding officer obviously hasn't had to sit in this cluster-frick of a jam," I muttered.

The Stingray crawled forward a couple inches, and I struggled to bite back the string of passionate cusses building in the back of my mouth. Meanwhile, dad chuckled. "You see that, kiddo? We're moving again."

"Yeah, just barely." I hit my head against the front of the passenger seat. "GodDAMMIT, I hate this!"

"Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap when we get home, Jenn," dad warned me.

"Oh come on, dad. 'Dammit' is a _minor _swear."

"No excuse. You don't get to cuss like a marine until I either say you can, or I kick you outta the house."

I scowled. "Pooter," I grumbled. "You're such a killjoy."

"I'm your dad. I'm supposed to keep things G-rated, and do G-rated stuff."

"Oh, like getting a sputnik in your right ear? VERY G-rated, dad," I said sarcastically before I started flicking the little hoop-ish earring that had been shanked through dad's right ear.

We moved forward a few more inches, until our car was sitting in front of a red traffic light. By then, dad had grown pretty sick of moving along at turtle-speed; he muttered, "Oh, fuck this," combat-turned left, and started moving through the less-crammed traffic like a pissed-off cab driver. "I'm not sitting in this shit any longer."

"Atta boy." I clapped dad on the shoulder. "Knew you'd get sick of this sooner or later." I giggled to myself at the thought that had suddenly surfaced in my head. "So, we feelin' the road rage now, pops?"

"It's more like road annoyance," he corrected me stiffly. He whizzed by a lime-green VW as proof of the road annoyance.

When I didn't say anything to add to the conversation, I jammed my headphones into my ears, put my iPod on shuffle, and boredly watched the passing cars and buildings. The cars going by reminded me of bizarrely colorful items on a conveyer belt; they all kept moving along at the same lazy pace, each one looking the same as the one in front of it and the one following close behind as they came and went. The cars also had a very distinct sound to them, which was rather weird to me. I figured that the ability to pick out the drone of a pimped-out Camaro or the buzz of a soccer mom's Prius was an effect of my ADHD, but who knows? Maybe it was my spidey senses tingling.

"Well, we're here," dad declared as he slowed the Stingray down in front of a big, museum-like building with a couple of schoolbuses parked by the entrance - schoolbuses that, once I got past my dyslexia, I noticed had _Yancy Academy _tattooed on their sides.

_Aw, FRICK! The english field trip to the Met's today! _

"You can't be serious! The Met?"

"Yeah, why? What's wrong with checking out a little art?"

"Dad, the entire english department from Yancy is here today!" I hissed. Now on edge, I flipped up my jacket hood, and crammed my headphones deeper into my skull. "I was supposed to go on a field trip to check out the Greek Mythology exhibit with my english class! How the hell am I going to be able to enjoy 'a little art' if I'm in the same building as my lit class?"

"You keep a low profile, Jenn," dad said simply before he slid out of the driver's seat. "Make sure your classmates and the teachers don't see you, that's all."

I shot dad an annoyed glare. "I blame you if I'm caught by one of the teachers." I followed up with an unneeded shiver of dread; I honestly didn't want to imagine what would happen to me if: A. I was caught by Mrs. Kaminski, my teacher; B. I was caught by Mr. Brunner, the Latin teacher in a wheel chair; or C. I was caught by Ms. Dodds, the other english teacher, and the one lady who always looked like she had no bones with paddling someone's ass if she caught them acting out-of-line.

I shook my head as we walked into the museum and took care of the viewing fee. "This is crazy."

Dad shrugged. "Just think of it like a stealth ops mission. Outta sight -"

"Outta mind. I got it, dad." I started walking in the direction of the classical art wing. "I'm gonna walk around for a little bit. I'll meet you back here at twelve, 'kay?" Then, I walked away without bothering to wait for dad to give me an answer.

For almost half an hour, I meandered through the classical art wing, stealing glances at oil paintings that all looked the same with their brush strokes and crazy color schemes. When I got sick and tired of gawking at more Monet and Van Gough than I could handle, I decided to check out the Greek Mythology exhibit, just for the hell of it.

About halfway through the museum, I ran into dad as he was coming out of the modern wing.

He smirked. "Well now, what brings the sniper from hell to the modern art wing?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, just passing through," I said. "I figured it wouldn't hurt to go take a look-see at the Greek exhibit."

"Buuuttt...I thought Yancy's english department was looking at that."

"They're probably at lunch right now."

Dad's dark brown eyebrow quirked up. "At nine-thirty in the morning?"

"Believe it or not, yep. We _do _eat lunch around ten."

"'Kay then. I'm not asking anymore questions." Dad ruffled my hood-covered hair. "Do you mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all. Just in case though, if we do run into my english class, _I don't exist._" I slashed my fingers across my neck for added emphasis.

Dad nodded. "Gotcha."

So, we walked, hand in hand, down the hallways to the mythology exhibit. Except for the sound of our footsteps on the granite floor and the rain pattering against the roof, it was dead quiet in the place. It wasn't natural silence; it was almost like the sound had been strangled out of the museum. To say that it was spooky and creepy would've been one hell of an understatement.

"Sure is quiet in here," dad noted.

"Tell me about it."

We passed by an empty display room, or at least I thought it was empty at first glance. When I looked again, I saw a guy that looked to be my age, maybe a year older, and a teacher.

"Crap!" I stopped walking, and jumped back until I was hidden behind a giant stone doorframe. "Forget what I said about my english class being at lunch!"

"Wait, did that teacher see you, Jenn?" dad stage-whispered from the other end of the doorframe.

"Better not have."

I cautiously peeked around the corner to see if the teacher had spotted me, and was surprised to see that she was gone - the boy was the only one in the room, and he seemed just as confused as I was. He called out a name that I wasn't able to hear all that well.

No answer.

"Hello?" he called out.

All of a sudden, I noticed something move out of the corner of my eye, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the boy. Something had scaled up a construction platform at the back of the room, and was now looking down at the boy intensely. I, now wondering what was going on, stood under the doorframe, and looked up at the platform. As soon as I did, my stomach pancaked.

It was the teacher on the platform. Worse still, the teacher looked like...

"Ms. Dodds?" I said incredulously.

_Holy hell, how'd she get up there so fast?_

"Where is it!" she snarled at the boy in a freaky, possessed-by-demons voice that didn't even remotely sound like hers at all.

The boy's head did a 180 at the sound of Ms. Dodds' voice. "Whoa, whoa! _How _did you get up there?"

"Where is it!" she snarled again. "Where is the lightning bolt!"

"What lightning bolt? I don't know what you're talking about!"

As soon as that slipped out of the boy's mouth, Ms. Dodds dove off the platform, and changed into a leathery, bat-like thing - a fury. I was seriously freaked out now; Ms. Dodds was a fury, an honest-to-god Greek monster.

She - no, _it _- swooped down, snatched the boy up with it's talons, and tossed him out of the display room with ease. He hit the floor, and skidded past the doorframe - and past me; he then jumped up, and stared horrified as the fury went down to grab him again. The fury's talons held the boy's arms in a vice-like grip as they hovered high in the air.

"Give it to me," the fury hissed. "Give me the lightning bolt!"

"I don't have it!"

As if on cue, another kid and - I swear to god, I'm not kidding - Mr. Brunner entered the display room. The other kid cried out, "PERCE!" while Mr. Brunner's hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" he roared at the fury. "OR I SWEAR, I WILL TEAR YOU TO PIECES!"

Okay, earth to Mr. Brunner - YOU'RE IN A WHEELCHAIR! There's no way you can tear this thing to pieces!

"WHADDAYA MEAN YOU'LL TEAR IT TO PIECES!" I yelled over the clamor of the fury and the kid. "YOU CAN'T! THAT'S A DAMN FURY!"

Right when I said "fury," the thing dropped the boy to the ground, and dove towards me with a demented, evil look on it's face. It snatched me up, then proceeded to slash my shoulder with one of it's talons. As blood started to snake down my left arm, the fury's pale pink, slug-like tongue lapped it up with a curious frown. The frown quickly changed to a sadistic grin.

"A demigoddess," it declared in a low voice. "Your blood tastes sweeter than a human's."

I was now thoroughly p.o'ed that this evil Ms. Dodds-fury thing was helping itself to my blood without my blessing, so I swung my lower body up, and drove my foot into it's stomach as hard as humanly possible. "Lemme go!" I shouted.

The fury wheezed in pain, and quickly dropped me to the floor without a moment's hesitation. Then, it crashed through a glass-paned window, and flew away.

Once the fury was gone, I sat up, and rubbed my head.

"What the hell just happened?" I groaned.


End file.
